Neither Here Nor There: On the road again

By NICKI BRUCE LOGAN Herald Lifestyles Editor

Published 9:36 am, Friday, January 13, 2012

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The announcement of our Harvest Queen Mills (actually ADM, but still Harvest Queen Mills to those of us of a certain age who grew up under its shadow) closure didn't come as a big surprise to me. After all, the mill is in my 'hood, and when they quit lighting the big star a couple of Christmases ago, I saw the writing on the wall. Turn off the star, close the elevator. I truly mourned the star's demise. For years, I could sit in a chair in my den and look through a metal star outline hanging in my bay window and see the star inside my star. It was neat and I took every advantage to enjoy the sight.

I sent a note to Randy West, who managed ADM at the time, telling him how much pleasure I got from the star. He told me later that I was the only person to mention it and that they had considered not turning it on that year. I'm glad they continued with the star, but can imagine the trouble it took to climb to the top of the star and change the light bulbs.

While the ADM star was turned off, I had a nice surprise during the holidays when I was driving home several nights from the Dimmitt basketball tournament. The skies were so foggy that I had to creep along the highway, often relying on the white line at the right edge of the highway to keep me on the straight and narrow. Nothing was visible more than 10 feet in front of my headlights. It was the perfect scenario for a horror film, and, believe me, I have a great imagination.

Just when I thought that Freddy Kruger or the chain saw guy was going to step out in front of my little car, I saw it - a star on my left beaming from the top of an elevator.

It was beautiful. A Christmas miracle, of sorts.

OK, it's not a miracle in the sense that an angel landed on the hood of my car and heavenly hosts guided me through the fog, but I loved seeing it.

I thought it strange that I could see the star for miles, yet lights at the farms weren't visible from the road those nights and I was through Edmonson with only a faint glow to show me that I had passed through.

The star was bright and steady.

Fumbling with my cell phone (I was going pretty slow by then), I called my son. We have a pact of sorts that I call when I get home at night after ball games to let him know I'm in the house. He answered immediately, probably thinking I had car trouble or hit something in the fog. When I had left him, he cautioned me to be careful and look for deer on the road.

He wasn't expecting a star.

"Lee, I just saw a star!" I yelled in the phone.

"A star? Mom, where are you?"

"I don't know where I am, but I saw a star . . . it's the only thing I can see out here in the fog. It's a big star. It's so cool."

Well, the conversation improved as soon as he figured out from my disjointed ravings that I wasn't having hallucinations thinking I was with the shepherds or having visitations from the heavenly hosts.

He still teases me about "visions" in the fog.

While writing about my star, I called the Edmonson gin, and before I could get out my question, I had my answer.

"Kevin Igo," I was told when I described the star, admitting I didn't know where I was on the Dimmitt Highway when I saw it.

"Kevin Igo. It's on his elevator east of Edmonson."

Knowing Kevin owns Halfway Farm Chemical (I pass that location at least twice a week on my way to Sudan basketball games - I've gotten really familiar with landmarks and road signs), I called to make sure.

Kevin says the star has been on top of the elevator since they bought it about seven years ago.

"Mike Crupe is manager of the elevator and he asked me one day if I minded if he put the star up there. I told him it was a great thing to do," Kevin told me.

Starting at Thanksgiving, the star shines above the Texas prairie (I have to throw in a few poetic descriptions here) throughout the holidays.

"I am amazed at how many people have called and thanked us for the star," Kevin said, adding when I told him how I missed the Harvest Queen Mill star that his mother, Shirley Igo, also enjoyed the HQM star. Shirley lived a few blocks away from me in the old part of town, so the star was visible from her house, too.

Kevin said some call and say "thank you" for ‘my' star, so I'm proposing that all of you who are star-struck, join me next Thanksgiving night for a prairie picnic (there I go again) by the side of the elevator and celebrate the lighting of "our" star.